


In the Deep Roads

by DeCarabas



Series: Fugitives Together [8]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 1, Blue Hawke, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/pseuds/DeCarabas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders could have loved Hawke as a spirit or as a man. He couldn’t do it as both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Deep Roads

The sense of Stroud and the other Wardens had long since faded into the background hum of distant darkspawn in Anders’ mind. But as he kept watch beside the fire of their camp, he strained his senses outward, ignoring the nausea as he probed at the edges of that corruption, listening for some trace of them, some assurance he could give Hawke that Carver had made it through the night.

The touch of that corruption against his mind made his skin crawl, made him want to scrub himself clean in a way that the worst of Darktown couldn’t compare to. Last time he’d been in the Deep Roads, the Warden-Commander had assured him that was normal, they were all feeling it; but he was the only one feeling it now. For Hawke, Varric, Carver, there was just the dark, the damp, the moldering stench, the air that never seemed to stir, as if there was no way out; just them and the monsters in the dark that they were blind and deaf to.

And they’d trusted Anders to guide them through it safely. Carver might be an ass, but he didn’t deserve to spend the rest of his life tied to the darkspawn.

Hawke lay curled up by the fire, sleeping at last. For a moment, the part of him that was Justice, fascinated by the infinite variations in texture of the physical world, was transfixed by the stark contrast of light and shadow over the contours of Hawke’s skin, the firelight playing over the knuckles of an outstretched hand.

For the thousandth time since they’d discovered Carver’s sickness, Anders mentally reached out, listening for any trace of corruption taking hold in Hawke. For the thousandth time, there was nothing. And Anders twined his fingers together in his lap to stop them from shaking.

Maker, he was in over his head.

After months of celibacy, it would have been nice to just relax and enjoy a pretty smile and strong hands, a clumsy flirtation, the thrill of having met someone who didn’t mind that he occasionally lit up like a lightning bug. But no, he had to leap straight to throwing himself into the Deep Roads for the sake of protecting a man who’d scarcely so much as touched him, shaking at how close he was to losing him. Too much, too fast. Fade spirits never did have any sense of timing, and apparently neither did possessed mages.

 _I would help any mage in such circumstances,_ Hawke had said when they first met. So easily. As if it was only natural, mages risking their lives for their fellow mages, when it had taken a spirit of justice to bring Anders to the same point; and the part of him that was a spirit had just about vibrated with approval at Hawke’s words. Most apostates in Kirkwall wanted nothing but to stay as far away from the mage underground as they could, to keep their heads down and mind their own business, well away from the templars.

Carver was always begging Hawke to do the same, as if he’d gotten all the self-preservation instinct for both Hawke brothers. But he wouldn’t be around to do that anymore. Or to guard Hawke’s back if the templars ever came for him in the night, when Anders wasn’t there to stop them.

A jagged blue line skittered across his clenched hands.

He took a deep breath, and then regretted it. It was better not to think about his breathing down here. Now he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it. The knowledge that the ancient ventilation system was clearly still functioning did nothing to soothe his nerves, not when he couldn’t actually feel the flow of air against his skin.

There was something Justice had said to the Warden-Commander once—he’d envied what Aura and Kristoff had felt for each other, the secondhand emotions of his previous host. But envy was a demon’s desire for what it cannot have.

He could have this. Hawke had made that very clear.

It wasn’t that spirits didn’t know love in the Fade. They did. Too well. Not the mortal pleasure of a life built together that Kristoff and Aura had shared, one day at a time; but the kind of pure emotion found in dreams, without past or future, without craving reciprocation, as selfless and all-consuming as the love of the Maker. And that hadn't ended too well for Andraste.

Being around Hawke sent Justice’s memories of the Fade rushing to the surface, offering up fragmentary impressions—Wisdom in conversations that lasted longer than empires, Compassion embracing every wounded creature that crossed its path, Desire rushing headlong into mutual destruction.

And memories of Justice himself, fixating upon some noble figure fighting to change the world for the better, studying them right down to the details of the firelight playing over the fine lines of their hands, wrapping himself up in their cause until there was nothing else left of him. No past, no future, no thought of other causes going neglected while he wasted his time trapped in darkspawn-infested tunnels, unable to stand by and allow Hawke to set foot in that place without a Warden’s senses to guide him through it, for all the good it had done Carver. And for the thousand-and-first time, Anders checked for nonexistent signs of corruption growing in Hawke, and his hands still wouldn’t stop shaking.

He could have loved Hawke as a spirit or as a man. He couldn’t handle it as both.

“You’re glowing.”

Anders startled, half reaching for his staff.

Hawke’s face was turned away from the fire, but his open eyes were still clearly visible in the flickering blue light.

“Sorry,” Anders said, closing his eyes and focusing on solid things, on the chill of the stone beneath him.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Hawke said. But the light still faded. When Anders opened his eyes again, Hawke was sitting up, watching him worriedly. He spoke softly, and Varric slept on. “Is it more darkspawn? The Wardens—?”

Hawke’s tone tightened on that last, and Anders wished he had something better to offer. “Nothing. I’d have woken you if there was any sign of them.”

Hawke waited for an explanation, and seeing that there was none forthcoming, he shrugged. "I think the light kept the nightmares away." Maker, he was ridiculous. "I keep meaning to ask, should I call you Justice when you’re like that?”

“I’m always Justice. And I’m always me.”

There was only incomprehension on Hawke’s face, but he was trying. He kept trying. He accepted everything so easily, confused but game.

Carver really had gotten all the self-preservation instinct for the two of them.

He shook his head at last. “I’m still Anders.”


End file.
